Musings of a Joker
by Chibi Scissorwoman
Summary: Ya wanna know how I got these scars?" Everything would start from that one simple question. **The Joker** --Oneshot--


_**A/N:**__** Well, I'm back, with my third Batman fanfic. This one focuses specifically on the Joker, and I started typing it randomly one night. No planning was involved with this, not even a plotbunny... it just flowed out of my mind into the document. I had Heath Ledger's Joker in mind when I wrote this. XD. I hope you all like this one! ^-^**_

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**Musings of a Joker_

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"Ya wanna know how I got these scars?"

It always started with that one question. He would always look into his victims' eyes, holding a blade in their mouth... ready to cut through them...

The Joker always got a sort of strange pleasure from terrorizing people. It was always the same, no matter what he did. He'd ask the same question... gaze into their fearful eyes... feel them tremble in his grasp... oh, wasn't it wonderful?

"Let's put a smile on that face."

What was it about that ominous phrase that made the citizens of Gotham so terrified? All he wanted to do was make them smile... They could never see the funny side of things, like he had learned to do so long ago. They could never smile constantly. Ignorant fools.

He wasn't crazy. Not at all. It was _them _that were crazy. He was the sane one.

Gotham City's residents were all insane. They'd made themselves go insane. The Batman was the cause.

That damned Batman...

Always getting the best of him. Always winning, somehow...

The Joker knew he had to do something about him. Do something about the meddling masked vigilante.

The Batman always thought he had it hard. Always thought he had a difficult life, always thought he was the best one at everything...

That kind of arrogance made the Joker sick.

Batman having a hard life?

Pah.

Batman didn't know what a hard life was.

Sure, his parents had been killed. That was it. He was only a little boy in a playsuit, crying for Mommy and Daddy. How pathetic.

Now, the Joker... The Joker had had it hard.

The scars on his face, for instance. He got them from his father... or were they self-inflicted? He couldn't remember anymore; not with all the twisting and mangling his repeated stays at Arkham Asylum had done to his mind. All he knew was that he was wearing a permanent smile; a smile that would last the rest of his life...

Arkham Asylum in itself was insane. The inmates, always screaming, always muttering... It was enough to drive the Joker to the point of murder. But no, he couldn't ever murder his fellow inmates. They were all like him, classified as extreme psychotics. They all were one and unique.

He spits on the ground as he walks down a dark alley. Midnight is approaching, and the moon is reaching its high point in the night sky. The perfect opportunity... for something wonderful to happen. One of these days he'd go back to Arkham.

He'd go back to Arkham willingly, and not being escorted there by police, or worse, Batman. He'd go there of his own accord, and release the inmates that were inside. They all would make perfect additions to his gang; they were just as sane as he was. Maybe a bit stupid, but still... as sane as he was.

He might even be able to find his Harley Quinn. Harley had disappeared a while ago... it seemed like forever since she'd vanished, leaving the Joker alone. Maybe she was interning at the asylum again, back to herself as Harleen Quinzel. Maybe she was even an _inmate!_

He laughs to himself as he thinks of this. Harley, an inmate? Well, she had turned herself in before... what kept her from doing it again? Or maybe she'd been caught, and thrown in there, classified as yet another psychotic. That wouldn't surprise him in the least.

His thoughts, and his walk, are suddenly interrupted when he feels a small tug on his coat. He whirls around to see a small child, a boy, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Mister?" the child asks, his voice small and hesitant. The Joker smiles at him. Normally children were scared of clowns. It is so unusual to find one that isn't, especially in this city...

"I like your smile," the child continues. His eyes are glued to the Joker's face. "I wish I could smile all the time. I think it'd make me look better."

The Joker looks down at him, pleased that he's asked such a thing. He pulls a knife out of his pocket, bending down to the little boy's level.

"You wish you could smile all the time, eh?" he asks, tilting his head. "Well, doing that is very simple. Ya see, you take this knife..." He takes the little boy's hand, palm up, and drops the small knife into it, "and you give yourself scars like mine." He points to his cheeks. "I'm not gonna tell you how to do it; you'll have to figure out for yourself." He stands back up to his full height, and smiles once more as the boy stares up at him in wonder. "You have to put a smile on that face... people will _like _you for it."

Without another word, he turns away from the boy and strides away, leaving the child behind. Yet another mind he's possibly influenced... He loves his job. Loves it, loves it, loves it. Too bad he couldn't twist that mind and break it, like he had done to Harley so many months ago... or is it years? He can't remember. He's lost track of the time Harley had been with him completely.

He continues his walking, his aimless walking through Gotham City. He's surprised he hasn't gotten caught yet; these days the little police officers and even Batman were out on patrol each and every night.

He thinks of the bank robbery he and his gang had committed a couple of days ago. It was a success. All of them had died just as he had wanted them to; had killed each other, for the last one to eventually be killed by him. Sixty-eight million, he'd stolen. He doesn't care about money, however... He's just stolen it for amusement. Everything he's done had been done for amusement. How pathetic Gotham's citizens are... and how the Batman always comes and attempts to claim him. The Joker has always managed to escape, however; the only times he's ever been caught he set himself up to be caught.

Tomorrow, he'll go and confront the little mob, to attempt to negotiate with them to kill the Batman. He wonders how easily he can bend their minds to succumb to his words. It should be quite simple.

And then...

He'll go back to intimidating, to terrorizing, to slowly murder Gotham's citizens.

All until the Batman decides to show his face.

And then he'll ask that simple little question once more...

The question that makes the citizens tremble...

The question that terrorizes them...

The question that makes them fear him.

"Ya wanna know how I got these scars?"


End file.
